Dean's POV between 2x22 and 3x01
by The.Impala's.Trunk
Summary: Dean's viewpoint set sometime during the week after making his deal but before the 7 Deadly Sins have made their appearance. Enjoy!


(Set sometime in the week between 2x22 and 3x01)

I could feel Sam's stubborn gaze penetrating me from across the Impala; he was pissed off, and he had every reason to be, I guess. I concentrated on the road ahead to avoid looking in his direction. I would have done anything to prevent how we were now, but I'd had no choice, and as long as Sam knew that, I could die happy. It had been nearly a week since we'd let the Devil's Gate get opened, and released all those demons onto an unsuspecting human race. I had become extremely good at reading my brother's emotions, and knew by glancing at him that not only did Sam feel a mixture of anger about my deal and determination to get me out of it, there was also a little sadness for me thrown in there, and a fair bit of guilt about letting the Gate get opened in the first place to weigh him down further. Over the last few days, it had finally come to me what I had gotten myself into with this deal. I knew I shouldn't have done it; but what else was I supposed to do? Let Sammy die? So I summoned that bitch and made the deal right there and then; there was no way I was letting that smarmy demon get one up on me, or letting my brother die. The grief that had eaten away at me for the short time of an hour, although it had felt like a lifetime, was beyond any other emotion I've ever experienced. It had seemed to tear at me much worse than I'd imagine the Hell hounds I was to face ever could; feeling the burden of failed responsibility and the pain of being alone was unbearable. And Sam should know that I had felt like that. Because I knew he'd feel the same way if it was me..._when _it was me.

I shuddered, and it wasn't because of the cold draught flowing through the fans of the Impala's dashboard. Sam turned his attention from out the window to me, and I quickly tried to explain my movement by tapping the steering wheel in time to a song.

"You feel like a tune or two, Sammy?"

"Yeah, whatever." Sam shrugged, seemingly having more pressing matters on his mind.

I stuck in a tape of Boston and 'Rock and roll band' started playing. I emphasised tapping the steering wheel with the beat, hoping he would let the unexplained shudder drop. But I was talking Sam here. Was he ever that satisfied with so little information? My experiences told me not.

"Dude, you can stop tapping, alright? It's driving me nuts."

I looked away from the windscreen for a split second and looked at Sam. I stopped tapping and turned the music down slightly. My turn to talk.

"Look, are you okay? It just, you're even _more_ quiet and brooding than normal..." I trailed off and silently invited him to reply.

He looked across at me from the passenger seat. "How could you do it?"

"It's just Boston. If I'd known you didn't like it that much I would've –"

"Quit screwing around, Dean." His voice sounded tired. Not looking for a confrontation, just an explanation – but I'd already given him one.

"I've already told you why I did it, Sam, do we have to go through this again? I mean what more do you want me to say?"

Sam shook his head, apparently giving up. I seized the opportunity to continue.

"You want an apology? Ok. I'm sorry, Sammy." At this point he looked up at me, shocked at my choice of words. "I'm sorry that you have to go on while I'm dead, and I'm sorry that we only have a year left together to finish what Dad started."

I paused for a minute to let Sam formulate a reply. After a second or two, he spoke.

"Didn't you even think it through? About how I was going to have to live with you dead?"

"Sammy, I've thought about it a lot, alright? Don't guilt-trip me. Please."

"Did you think about it before you made the deal, though? Did it even cross your mind?"

I nodded sincerely, focusing on the road in front of me; it seemed easier than my brother right now.

"I really am sorry, Sam."

"I know you are." he said, the slight anger that I could sense had been rising decreasing as quickly as it had come. I did envy him for that – how he could shut off his anger and be sensitive and caring no matter how much he was hurting inside. He knew, especially after Dad died, that I wasn't so good at controlling my anger and stopping from lashing out. I still felt a pang of guilt for how I had acted, particularly towards Sam, during those couple of weeks. It remained fresh in my mind, probably because I had felt a magnified version of that emotion nearly a week ago.

But I was sort of glad I had made my deal. I'd go out in a blaze of glory, I still had one year left with my brother, and I'd go out doing exactly what I did and enjoyed best. I just hoped the idea would warm up to Sammy before that day, preferably sooner rather than later.


End file.
